


Polarize

by bonebo



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Blindfolds, D/s, Gags, Kinda, Restraints, facesitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-18
Updated: 2016-04-18
Packaged: 2018-06-03 00:30:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6589426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a short commission for sweetcrescent on Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polarize

It starts, as most of Quark's favorite things do, with a hypothesis.

Brainstorm—another one of Quark's favorite things—kneeling on the floor of their shared quarters with his panel open, a length of soft black cloth keeping his hands bound behind his back and another wrapped over his optics to render him blind. His wings tied up in crisscrossing ribbons of black from bases to tips, his ventilations soft and shallow, his jaws parted around a bit gag; and standing behind him Quark, close enough to feel the heat radiating off Brainstorm's frame in waves.

“I have a theory, Brainstorm,” Quark murmurs, lightly setting one hand on Brainstorm's helm and watching him jolt; he rubs gently at the ridged middle crest of Brainstorm's helm in apology for the scare. He doesn't need his lovely jet getting worked up too early. “Would you like to hear what it is?”

At Brainstorm's shaky but frantic nod, Quark comes around to his front and crouches, moving the hand on Brainstorm's helm down to cup his cheek. He taps at the exposed cheek cable with his thumb to make sure he still has Brainstorm's attention, pleased with the way the jet's helm jerks to blindly face him, and smiles. 

“My theory,” he starts, voice soft, “is that I can make you overload without even touching your spike. That the stimulation I give you without _actually_ stimulating you will be enough.”

His fingers find the ribbon covering Brainstorm's optics and stroke it lightly, then reach further back to gently tug at the bondage over his wings, making Brainstorm's engine stutter. “These are to keep you receptive and responsive,” he explains, and his tone changes to something teasingly playful as he adds, “They might also prove useful for negative reinforcement...but I'm sure we won't be needing that, will we?”

The hitch in Brainstorm's ventilations and the whine of his engine gives Quark his answer. 

“And _this_...” Quark smiles faintly, tapping the ring that sits snugly at the base of Brainstorm's pressurized spike, polished silver gleaming in the faint yellow glow of his biolights. Brainstorm's intakes hitch. “This is to ensure that you don't spoil my experiment too early.” 

Quark straightens, taking a moment to just enjoy the picture of Brainstorm trussed up so perfectly before him; he takes a few snapshots with his HUD—they'll certainly be useful later—then reaches out to press two fingers to the center seam of Brainstorm's chestplate and push. 

With a muffled squeal of alarm, Brainstorm topples backward—but before he can even pull in enough air to verbalize his distress, there's a warm weight hovering over his face, and he can smell the damp, heady scent of desire. The ribbon covering his optics is pulled away, and he's treated to the sight of Quark over him, smiling down at him, his lips quirked in the way that Brainstorm _knows_ means the best kind of trouble.

“For the first part of our little test,” Quark purrs, fingertips stroking along the edge of Brainstorm's gag lightly, “I'm going to see just how quickly your clever little mouth can get me off. And you...”

Quark pauses, then leans down, almost doubling over just so he can press a soft kiss to the middle of Brainstorm's helm. “You're not going to say a word. Understand?”

Brainstorm can't help his engine's desperate whine as he nods, almost frantic—Quark only reply is another promising smile, and with gentle fingers he works the gag loose, then pulls it down. It falls to hang around Brainstorm's neck like a makeshift collar, smearing the plating of his throat with drool. Quark doesn't miss the way Brainstorm shudders.

Once again pleased with their arrangement, Quark slides his panel back, fully intending on teasing Brainstorm further—but the first hungry lap against the slick slit of his valve steals his breath away and leaves him gasping. He braces one hand behind himself, on Brainstorm's abdominals; the other goes to grip the side of Brainstorm's helm, and between the two handholds he finds he can rock up into that warm glossa as much as he pleases, and leave Brainstorm the one gasping for air under his hips.

So that's what he does.

Vents already panting, Quark bucks against Brainstorm's mouth, grinding the cleft of his valve on the jet's warm glossa; every now and again his anterior node catches on Brainstorm's lips, pulling a soft moan from him and wringing an answering, needy noise from Brainstorm, which Quark is happy to ignore. He gets his first overload this way, arched up snugly against Brainstorm's mouth as thick fluid squirts from his valve, and if his noises are anything to go by, the ring around his spike is the only thing keeping Brainstorm from doing the same.

“Very good.” Quark lifts himself up onto his knees, then shuffles forward a little so he's more directly settled over Brainstorm's face; he slides his spike cover aside with a quiet hiss, then grips the warmed, pressurized metal in his hand and sits, shifting around until he can feel the warm air of Brainstorm's pants right against the supple, twitching entrance to his valve. “Now do it again.”


End file.
